The Letter

by Mary Crawford

  “Wow, I didn’t even think about that. I thought eating my favorite foods would encourage me to eat.”

  “It does in the beginning until you throw them up over, and over, and over again. It’s best to stick with the foods you’d eat when you have the flu.”

  A voice from across the room shouts, “Ms. Taylor, are you planning to play with us today or not?”

  The blood drains out of my face and my hands tremble as the information in my brain clicks.

  “Whoa! I’ve seen a lot of newbies come through here, but I’ve never seen the effects of chemo hit quite so fast. Do you want me to call a nurse?” Sheila asks with concern.

  For several moments, I’m silent as I try to figure out what to disclose. “No, I’m fine. It’s just that when you figure out who I am, you may not want to talk to me.”

  “Why is that? Did you suddenly turn into my own personal boogie monster? I’m facing metastatic bone cancer. My PET scan lights up like a kaleidoscope. It doesn’t get much worse.”

  I boot up my computer and pull up my profile on Word Soup’s website. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for several weeks,” I admit awkwardly.

  “You have?” Sheila asks.

  I nod.

  “Even though I’m an adult, my family still hasn’t gotten a clue that I’m not a kid. They still filter my email. Their excuse these days is that I’m too sick to deal with reality. The only problem is, they never wanted me to deal with reality. I guess I don’t understand why you would be trying to talk to me?”

  I lower my voice so I’m speaking barely above a whisper. “I’m not sure you want me to discuss it here.”

  Sheila shrugs. “I don’t have any secrets left from these people. Almost everyone has accepted the fact that I will die sooner rather than later. The only people who haven’t are members of my own family. I’m kind of an open book these days.”

  I swallow hard. “You might change your mind after I more fully introduce myself. My name is Mallory Yoshida. I’m a crime reporter for Word Soup, PNW.”

  “That’s nice. I hope they hold your job while you recover from cancer. I gave up my job. There was no way I could do everything.”

  “What were you doing?” I blurt as my reporter instincts take over.

  “I was working with at-risk high school students trying to keep them from dropping out of high school.”

  “That sounds like a great job.”

  “It was. I hated to give it up — but I just got too weak to go to work every day.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. Fortunately, my job is allowing me to take an indefinite leave of absence until I’m well enough to work again. But, the reason you should care about my job and the reason I was reaching out to you is because we are investigating the conviction of Marshall Todd.”

  Sheila shrinks before my eyes and she drops her head into her hands. I watch her shoulders shake as she weeps. Finally, she looks up at me. “Marshall Todd is the reason I have cancer.”

  I draw in a deep breath and my eyes feel as if they are going to pop out of my head. “Pardon me?” I gasp.

  “I can’t talk today, but I’ll talk to you next week — as long as you promise not to tell anyone until I’m done, promise?”

  “I promise,” I vow.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ROCCO

  I TRY TO TAMP DOWN my panic. I am a paramedic for Pete’s sake. I know all about emesis. I’ve been trained to handle it, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Mallory is practically passed out in my arms as I take a washcloth and gently wipe her face. The washcloth is yellow from bile stains. She has been unable to keep anything down.

  “Mallory, I need to run you into the doctor. This is an abnormal amount of nausea. It’s dangerous.”

  “Need to take a shower,” she mumbles.

  “Okay, I’ll shower with you. It’s not safe for you to shower by yourself right now. You are too unsteady.”

  “Somehow, I thought it would be way more romantic,” she responds weakly.

  “Someday it will be, just not today.”

  I strip her down and place her gently on the shower bench we purchased for her deep claw tub. I put some cherry blossom scented shower gel on a pad and wash her delicate skin carefully. The chemotherapy seems to have made her skin extra sensitive to touch. Last night she was complaining her sheets were rubbing against her skin and felt like sandpaper. I wash her hair twice because she got vomit on it the last time she threw up.

  After I finish, I wrap her in a couple warm plush towels and place her under a warming light in the bathroom while I grab a sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants.

  “Why am I so tired? All I’ve been doing is sleeping.”

  “Dr. Blumenauer will tell us more, but you’ve been throwing up a lot — that’s exceptionally hard on your body.”

  “My oncologist is a nice guy, isn’t he?” Mallory mutters. “It’s funny. When this first started, I thought I would only have one doctor. I didn’t know there would be so many. There is Dr. Stephenson who did my surgery and then there’s the plastic surgeon and Dr. Blumenauer for the chemotherapy. It’s a lot,” she says as her eyes drift shut and her head lolls against my body.

  Her docile posture as I dress her is as alarming as anything I’ve faced in the last twenty-four hours. Mallory is fiercely independent above all else. If she was more alert, she would be horrified by her behavior. I finish dressing her as quickly as I can and carry her out to my car.

  Using my connections at the hospital, I call ahead and give a heads up to her doctor. She needs some fluids ASAP.

  I meet Dr. Blumenauer’s nurse, Leanne, at the back entrance. I recite the vitals I took at the house and Leanne quickly takes another set after I deposit Mallory on a gurney. She takes Mallory’s blood pressure and then takes it again. She looks at me with surprise. “I see what you mean. I’ll hang a bag of dextrose and saline. She hasn’t been able to keep anything down?”

  I shake my head. “Not since a couple hours after she got home from chemo. I tried alternating frozen Gatorade and ice chips. Nothing worked.”

  “She took her Zofran?”

  “She had some in her I.V. before her chemo treatment and then I gave a dose orally at bedtime, but it came back up.”

  “Let’s get her situated in a room and under some warming blankets. Dr. Blumenauer will look her over. He may want to admit her overnight for observation.”

  Just then Mallory stirs and moans, “Not again —”

  I recognize the desperate tone in her voice and grab a blue disposable bag from a dispenser on the wall. I help her roll over to her side and hold the bag up to her mouth as she tries to throw up again. Heaves wrack her body, but only bile comes up. When she’s finished, Mallory collapses against the gurney in exhaustion.

  “Maybe I was wrong,” she whispers. “Maybe I should have just let the cancer take its course. It couldn’t be worse than this.”

  I lean over and brush the hair off her face. “Yeah, babe cancer is worse. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it really is. I’ve been on rescues where we’ve treated people who are terminally ill with cancer. It’s way worse than this.”

  Leanne nods. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this is temporary. We will figure out a way to manage your symptoms so it’s not this bad every time.”

  “I hope so. Because right now, I wish I was already dead.”

  Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I trudge downstairs to open the door. When I do, I’m surprised to see Gwendolyn on the other side. She looks equally surprised to see me. “Is Mallory still sleeping? If so, I can come back at a different time,” she says as she hands me a large flowering plant.

  I yawn before I answer. “No, she’s not here. She had a bit of a setback after chemotherapy because she had such excessive vomiting. They readmitted her to treat her dehydration. I expect her home this afternoon though.”

  “Oh my! I was hoping she wouldn’t have the same kind of horrible nausea I h
ad. During my treatments, they told me that they were working on newer, safer chemo meds with fewer side effects. It was my hope she would be the beneficiary of that kind of research. Chemotherapy is the devil. You think you’ve got it handled, one minute you do, and the next minute you’re flat on your back looking up at the ceiling. There is no happy medium. I used to scare Denny to death. I would feel well enough to start dinner with a happy smile on my face and he would turn around and the next thing he knew I’d be sitting on the bathroom floor rocking back and forth like a catatonic person from an insane asylum. I about drove myself and everyone else crazy.”

  “I’m scared. Mallory is saying things which don’t make any sense. It’s only been one chemotherapy session and she’s already saying she wished she never started them. She wants to simply let nature take its course and if she dies, she dies. I can’t believe I’m even hearing that kind of talk come out of her mouth. She was fully researching all of her options before she even officially knew she had cancer. Now, she just wants to cast her fate to the wind? It doesn’t make any sense!” I fume.

  “Of course it doesn’t make any sense! Nothing in her life makes any sense right now. A few weeks ago, she was a healthy young woman with her whole life ahead of her. She had nothing to be scared of and she had the universe by the tail. Now, every time she looks in the mirror, there is a visible reminder that her life can change in an instant and be gone. Mallory only has to breathe deeply or try to raise her arms to be reminded she’s not in charge of her destiny. Everything she thought was true about her life, isn’t.”

  “I would’ve thought at least some of those changes would have been for the positive,” I mope.

  “Oh, more than likely they are,” she says as she squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t be too disheartened. But, you have to remember even if you are a ray of sunshine in her otherwise dark world right now; you are all mixed in with the darkness. It’ll take her a little while to untangle it all.”

  I sink down to the edge of Mallory’s couch and sit on the arm. “Does that mean our relationship is doomed because of the way we met?” I ask, feeling dejected.

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just a little harder to figure it all out. I fell in love with Denny during the middle of my battle against lung cancer. It felt like we did everything backwards. We did all the tough stuff in the beginning. We faced all the life and death matters first and after the scary stuff was over, we had to go back and figure out how to do normal couple stuff. It was strange.”

  “I don’t know what to think. Mallory didn’t even want me there for the first chemotherapy treatment. She was afraid to bother me at work. She didn't want me to take any more time off than necessary. I told her I would be there for anything she ever needed. Ever. I thought I made that clear enough to her. But she didn’t want me to go out of my way to help her. Doesn’t she understand that I would move heaven and earth for her?”

  Gwendolyn chuckles. “I’m sure she understands. You’ve made that abundantly clear. I saw the two of you together at Aiden’s concert. It’s clear that your heart has totally made up its mind about your future with Mallory. But, I’ve been in Mallory’s shoes. I know what it’s like. When you’re sick and you’re used to being independent, you don’t want to have other people rearrange their whole lives simply to help you. It’s a strange battle of keeping your dignity and pride and not wanting to be a burden.”

  “Usually, Mallory and I can talk about everything, no matter how private or awkward, but she didn’t want to tell me anything about her chemotherapy. It was just weird. It’s not like her to keep things from me.”

  “Are you sure? You guys have been dating for only a few months. How do you know how she acts when she’s under stress? Maybe it’s her usual coping mechanism, and it has nothing to do with you.”

  “I suppose you’re right. In a way, we did things backwards too. We didn’t get a chance to know each other very well before things got radically personal and she had to trust me before she actually knew me. Maybe we don’t have the proper foundation built yet.”

  “I’ve been married three times and I have two children and lots of grandchildren. One of the things I’ve learned is that there is no right way to do a relationship. I think we all learn as we go along. You guys just have more than the usual number of obstacles to overcome to make it happen.”

  “Do you have any suggestions? Mallory is going through enough. I don’t want to drive this into the ditch any more than I already have.”

  Gwendolyn reaches up and gently pats my cheek. “Mallory is a very lucky woman that you’re already trying to think of ways to make your relationship with her stronger. I wish more couples did that.”

  For some reason Gwendolyn’s remark makes me blush all the way to the roots of my hair.

  “Well, I do have one tip. Whenever Denny and I are talking past each other, sometimes it helps us if we write a letter to each other. Sometimes it’s easier to spell out your thoughts on a piece of paper than face-to-face. Of course, we always end up talking it out in the end, but sometimes just writing it down first helps.”

  “That’s a cool idea. But, to be honest I can’t imagine you and Denny having any problems in your relationship. You two are like the poster children for the ideal American love story.”

  “We only make it look easy because we work at it. The two of us are both as stubborn as two old mules — and we’ve got tempers to match. Usually, we try to work on compromises where we both can be right. But, sometimes that’s simply not possible and we have to talk it out and come up with a compromise. Occasionally, it even involves yelling. At first, I was petrified. My second husband was the personification of evil. My physical scars are almost all gone now. But the emotional scars linger for both me and Donda. It took me a long time to trust men in general — even Denny. For the most part, I’m over it now — except for the days I’m not. And then I fall apart.”

  “Wow, it’s still tough even this many years later?” I ask, remembering the stories Jaxson told me about his mother-in-law.

  “I don’t have as many tough times as I had in the beginning, but the bad days are still there. I suspect Mallory will have days like that too. Some days, she will feel like an Amazon warrior where she can take on the world. Other days, she’ll be so emotional she’ll cry when she trims her toenails. You’ve got to be able to be there for her with equal passion on both kinds of days. I won’t lie. It’s incredibly hard on your relationships. In the beginning, I tried to push everyone away, including Denny.”

  “So, what can I do?”

  “First, take care of yourself. Get some rest, feed yourself and try not to get eaten alive with stress when things don’t go as you expected. It’ll be a roller coaster. Mallory needs to know she can tell you about her worst day without it crushing you.”

  I reach out and hug Gwendolyn. “I know you came to see Mallory, but I think I may have needed the visit even more than she did.”

  Gwendolyn reaches into her pocket and takes out a business card and a pen. She writes her phone number down and says, “This is my personal cell phone. Call me anytime you need anything. If you’ve got questions or you need a shoulder to lean on, I’m here for you.”

  I start to protest. “I don’t want to impose.”

  Gwendolyn winks at me as she heads out the front door. “Cancer is a messy business. Impose away. But, remember your reaction. That’s just a small fraction of what Mallory feels every time she has to ask someone for a favor. It’s not a comfortable feeling, is it? Stop by the Flower Peddl’r on the way to the hospital and I’ll put together a little something special for you.”

  “Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve offered.” The door shuts behind Gwendolyn as she leaves. I hear her car leave Mallory’s driveway as I lose myself in thought.

  Chevy Chase sees my shoelace dangling and makes a dive for it. “Wow, Chevy if it’s that hard for me to even think about contacting my friend’s mother-in-law when
I’m not even shy, I wonder what it would be like for Mallory with her reserved nature.”

  When I walk into Mallory’s hospital room, she is looking much better. Her eyes are flashing with anger and her color is much better. She is flipping through the television stations with a frustrated expression on her face. I hand her a bouquet of lavender roses as I ask, “What’s wrong?”

  After Mallory lays the flowers on the bedside table, she flops back against the pillows, and scrubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I’m just frustrated. I can’t find any decent news on TV and I’m not in any position to write any of my own.”

  I rummage through the cupboards and take out a spare water pitcher and fill it with water before placing the bouquet of roses in it. “Not a fan of purple, I see?” I remark with a raised eyebrow. “I tried to find cherry blossoms, but the florist was out.”

  Mallory gasps and covers her face with her hands. “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe I was so rude. They’re beautiful. I love them.”

  “Gwendolyn tells me there is a special code to the flowers,” I say as I set the flowers down.

  Mallory giggles in a free and easy way I haven’t heard in several weeks. “Oh trust me. I know all about that secret code. A couple of years ago we had a gung-ho intern who was all about becoming the next Barbara Walters. She was assigned to our entertainment and arts reporter. It was around Valentine’s Day and everyone was hassling Winston about being single. He finally assigned it to Candi Sweets — yes, that was her real name. She showed us her driver’s license. Anyway, she made it her mission to do the most thorough story ever on the meaning of giving flowers as a romantic gesture. I’ll never forget her horror when she found out some flowers have a darker intent.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “Yeah, it was funny until her poor unsuspecting boyfriend sent her a bouquet of flowers for her birthday which contained yellow carnations and orange lilies. She almost broke up with him for his gaffe.”

  “I guess those flowers don’t mean anything positive?”